


Remembrance

by AngelWars



Series: Angel's Clonecest July [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, Jesse is a Good Boyfriend, Kix Needs A Hug, M/M, Mando'a, Sad, Tears, nice ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelWars/pseuds/AngelWars
Summary: 'To no man or being will I cause or permit harm to befall, nor will I refuse aid to any who seek it. These obligations Iwillinglyandfreelytake upon myself in tradition of those that have come before me. These are things we do so that others may live.' -The Medic's Creed
Relationships: CT-5597 | Jesse/CT-6116 | Kix
Series: Angel's Clonecest July [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813453
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Emotionally Crippling Fics, TexWash's Must Reads and Rereads





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> This is day 2 of the ClonecestinJuly challenge! I finally finished this story, oh my lord; it took forever!! Thank you to all of my beta readers/editors! You all did an amazing job and I really appreciate it. I hope you all enjoy this one! Lots of angst and tears and pain this time! *evil laughter*
> 
> *Warning: Very VERY brief mentioning about a suicide attempt
> 
> **Prompt word: Vespers**

Fire explodes from left to right. Troopers scream in pain, in agony. Multiple howls of anguish and despair bounce across the damaged land as Kix runs to each and every injured trooper—checking on them to make sure they are still alive. If they _are,_ they get a tag indicating whether they have minor or major injuries. Deceased soldiers receive black tags indicating death for those who will come to collect the bodies and bury them later. 

Kix almost falls to his knees when an explosion sends him forward. He growls under his breath and continues blasting away as he goes. White and blue fall to the ground like fallen angels from the heavens. It’s anything but graceful; they crumple unceremoniously to the ground in bloody heaps of tangled limbs. Kix kneels down, checks for their pulses, and tags them. He administers a small dosage of painkillers out of empathy.

“You’ll be okay. The other medics will come for you soon,” Kix reassures each one of them who _is_ alive before he moves on.

It’s a never-ending cycle of dread, sorrow, and frustration, but he keeps moving. He can’t stop for long periods of time or other men who need him will die from their wounds. Kix cannot let that happen; he will save as many brothers as he can, even if he has to leave a couple with some painkillers and move on. ‘ _They will be okay’_ he always reassures himself even in these dire situations. 

During battle, his senses become hyper-aware and then so numb afterwards that he can barely even feel the blood on his fingertips. It paints his hands in scarlet that once was inside of his vode's bodies, flowing freely and keeping them alive. Kix hates that part —when he’ll exit a tent and stare down at his hands, and finally address it. The sensation of silent distaste surrounds him in white and black ghostly shadows of what once was.

Kix is never verbal about how much he hates feeling the blood on his hands. Other times, especially after a hard battle like this one, he’ll make it known to everyone near him how broken he truly can be. Kix’s sight blurs with tears of absolute anger and hatred. He is angry that he's lost vode, and he despises this war for what it’s done to them, to him! More blaster rifles sound through the fog in the distance and droid poppers crackle nearby, too close for comfort.

The gun in his hands feels so heavy all of a sudden. He doesn’t want to hold it anymore; he hates it. He wants to drop it and run away, but he can’t because— _I have to save them all!_ Kix can taste salt from the sweat dotting on his upper lip as it makes its way down and into his mouth. He doesn’t mind because it’s a distraction from all the blood, horror, and gore he sees beyond the black visor hiding his terrified features. 

He may seem like an emotionless soldier, but underneath he’s kriffing scared, _petrified_ even. Kix has to hide all that unadulterated terror in the back of his mind and raise his walls up to protect himself from getting exposed to the wrong people.

Kix slams his heavily fortified facade up so he can save lives. 

Another brother falls to the ground in pain. He’s not dead, not yet, so Kix dashes across till he reaches the white armor decorated in contrasting red, and pulls him into a hiding spot to check him.

_What lives am I saving? I keep losing so many! So karking many!_

“It’s okay, _udesii_ . _Udesii_ , _vod_. You are going to be okay. Alright?” Kix kneels down beside the injured trooper and takes off his white med-pack.

_This is going to be a long day._

* * *

Hours later, it's over. The sun has set and the temperature has dropped to comfortable and manageable levels. The clouds create a dark formation in the sky in the silence that is only broken by the occasional noise—moans of agony, the sounds of cleaning and quiet chattering, troopers walking the perimeters, or the officers debriefing with the Generals. Despite the silence the night carries, there is still so much going on.

The medical tents are a holy mess of different sounds, smells, and sights. The worst part is the distinguishable metallic scent of blood on surgery tools that have to be left out on silver platters. Not surprising at all; the Republic does not give aid to the 501st or provide appropriate sterilization, which means that microorganisms live on the blades of each tool. It disheartens Kix to be well aware of that disgusting and unsanitary fact. 

Kix is used to the smells, however, thanks to years and years of being a medic. It's fortunately —and unfortunately— a side effect of olfactory fatigue, which is also known as _nose blindness_. 

Kix stares at the glowing holo-pad with empty golden eyes as his finger skids across the glass. Numbers move about on the screen. There are many casualties and many designation numbers— _names_ —covering his holo-pad. On and on until he reaches the very bottom and lets out a shaky breath. Exhausted and trembling, he places it on the nearest tray, like a pitiful coward who could barely hold in his lunch, and walks out into the lukewarm night. 

He stumbles as far away from the tents as possible, near a little grove of trees, and becomes sick. Kix trembles for so long with his clammy glove-covered palms on his knees and saliva slowly dripping from between his pale lips and sickly green covering the bridge of his nose. He says the blood doesn’t bother him, and it doesn’t, not on its own, but the number of men that died today does.

The green treetops up above sway as Kix slowly kneels in the sand near the pond, nearly as silent as the world around him. Nothing will bother him as long as he stays right here away from the others. He can still feel their blood on his hands, and his skin itches like holes cover every inch of it. He can still hear their cries of pain and agony, fear, and devastation—sounds that carry in range for miles, especially when one has lost a loved one. Kix couldn’t even begin to imagine how it would feel if he lost Jesse to the clankers on the battlefield. What if Jesse had died alone without Kix to be there for him?

Kix closes his eyes against the negative thoughts. Jesse may not be with him right now because he's in a debriefing, but he'll come back and find Kix. He’ll search out his riduur like always, no matter where they are. Nonetheless, Kix feels so lonely that he digs his blunt nails into his skin until they create half-moon indents. Kix wants so badly for his cyare to come back and hold him, sing to him, and comfort him any way he can till the nightmare is over. 

The numbers Kix saw on his holo-pad left him pale and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like sandpaper.

_Death count: Thirty-five men._

Kix grunts and slams his hand into the ground. 

“Kriff,” He hisses in frustration. He lowers his head towards the soft sand under his body and breathes. The silence is broken temporarily by wind whipping around him, the feel of it on his skin comforting, almost a physical touch.

The wind is practically hugging him.

“Kix,” A voice calls. A familiar, caring voice that almost always has an undertone of warm amusement in it. 

_Jesse._

He feels the sand under him shift as Jesse kneels beside him.

“Hey, you okay?” Jesse asks. He eyes the puddle of stomach bile a couple of meters away with concern before he glances at the medic once again; Jesse offers a sympathetic smile and his facial expressions soften a great deal. Kix stares at the moving sand for a second, blank and wide-eyed, before he turns his attention onto Jesse with eyes full of exhaustion and hopelessness. Jesse immediately pulls him into a consoling hug. 

“Okay, it's okay. I've got you.” Jesse brushes his hand back and forth along his back, and makes small shushing sounds. “What do you need?” 

Kix tucks his face into the side of his neck. Hot salty tears roll down his cheeks and cross paths with the sweat and grime covering his face to create visible tear tracks. Kix tries to focus on breathing for a moment but the smoldering negative feelings return like an avalanche.

“There were so many that died, Jess. Force, I lost so many good men. _All_ of them were good men. So man shinies...it was their first battle and they didn't even make it. It…it hurts to have to run, check them over the best I can, mark their bodies, and then keep moving. But the ones who died… Why do I have to leave so soon? Why can't I say goodbye to them,” Kix whispers into the junction between his collarbone and neck. 

Jesse's hand halts on his shoulder.

“You still can. Right now. A prayer for the dead, for our brothers who've marched on to join our aliit in _tra._ ”

Kix blinks pensively before nodding without saying another word. Jesse is right. Kix can still have a Vesper and pray for their dead brothers. It’s safe to do so now that the battle is over and the surge of adrenaline has faded. Kix isn't needed right now; the patients are resting and the other medics are watching over them, which means that Kix is free to rest— or pray with his riduur. 

The two of them place their hands on their knees and bow their heads. 

Kix whispers solemnly, _“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.”_ His eyes flutter closed. 

_“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,”_ Jesse whispers after him. 

Kix opens his eyes and gazes up at the stars. Each one looks the same but they are all unique and different. _Just like us clones._ Kix opens his mouth and lets out a sigh that’s weary but resigned.

"Bongo." The first name. The first known trooper he tried to save. When Kix found him stuck under a huge pile of rubble he immediately remembered his name. The poor trooper was so scared; he thought he would die alone but Kix was there with him at the very end. 

He even held Bongo's hand as the life departed his gilted eyes. 

"Anzanti." The second name. A shiny who came to his med-bay once asking for help because he found one of their brothers trying to hurt himself in the ‘fresher. Anzanti was afraid and tried his hardest to distract their brother, _Duros_ , while Kix stopped him from successfully taking his own life. Anzanti begged Kix not to tell the higher-ups, the Generals. He promised the medic he’d watch over Duros and would never take his eyes off of him.

Now Anzanti is gone. 

_Who will watch over Duros?_

Kix knows that Duros did not die in the battle which means that Kix can find him and make sure he’s safe and well. With Azanti gone there’s no telling whether Duros, with that knowledge, will try and hurt himself again. 

Kix makes a little mental note to search for Duros later. _For Anzanti._

Three more shinies. "LMC-211. Ennez. Sephi." Kix remembers their names only because he saw them on the list; like many names he’ll utter in remembrance tonight. 

_And maybe a little more._

On and on and on till he hit the last name. 

Kix swallows his grief. "Heart." His throat feels so parched without a drink of water. 

Jesse thinks he's finished so he opens his mouth to say something to console him but—"Echo," Kix pushes through clenched teeth. Jesse jerks up in surprise and then he sighs, soft and reminiscent.

"Hardcase," The medic groans out this one—a painful name to remember. A name that belonged to a spirited, uplifting, and crazy _vod_ that now only two remember. Kix ends it with a choked off sob and his arms curl around his abdomen in grief; he leans forward and rocks back and forth to withhold the tears from breaking through his carefully constructed walls. Jesse raises his hand to steady him and console him but he aborts the movement when Kix makes a sound of abandon. 

Jesse sighs internally. _Oh, Kix._

"Dogma," Kix growls, irate. His fingers grab at the sand that falls away around his trembling knees and legs; Kix throws it in a frantic attempt to find another outlet for his rage. Jesse lowers his head, as he is angry too but holds it back and glares at the ground. 

Kix bites his tongue till it almost bleeds. _So many vode. Gone. Gone!_

"Tup…" Tears trickle down his face in his grief; his shoulders shudder with barely restrained fury and quickly growing anxiety. _Calm yourself Kix, come on! Come down. This isn’t you and you know it. Just breathe...in and out. Be at peace._ His eyes flutter closed again and his chest lifts with each careful breath. 

Jesse watches him with pride, his eyes burning with that aching urge to cry in frustration. 

Kix tips his head back finally and stares up at the stars for who knows how long. Millions of them glow in the night, showing the way like a lantern. There are crimson, azure, white, gold, and orange ones. Each radiating star creates part of a constellation up there, and each one is massive, alive right down to the very core of their divine being. 

Jesse settles one hand on Kix's shoulder, and finally Kix looks over at him and shivers involuntarily. Jesse nods in silent understanding.

"Fives," Kix whispers the last name almost as if he’ll get struck down. "I couldn't save him, Jess. I stood there and let him walk out of that 'fresher, I should've,” —Kix bites the inside of his cheek to stop the tears. “I should've stopped him from going out there, from getting killed."

"You couldn’t have done anything, cyare. Fives… He did something that got him into trouble, and if we had helped him in any way then we could’ve been arrested. We could’ve been taken from the battlefront and decommissioned. And I…I believe you did the right thing, Kix. Okay?" Jesse hugs him gently.

Kix takes a sharp breath and tenses. 

"Stop blaming yourself for their deaths. You had nothing to do with it, and you weren’t the one who killed them. You tried your best to save them and that’s all that matters." Jesse breaks their hug in an instant so then he can stare at Kix firmly.

"Did you kill them? Any of them?" Jesse asks. Kix looks down and Jesse grabs his chin softly and brings it back up. 

"Did you kill them?" He repeats, but this time plain-spoken.

"No. No, I didn't."

"Good." 

"But I miss them so damn much! I wish none of them died! I wish they were here right now, next to us."

"I do too darling. I miss them every day," Jesse whispers. He cocks his head to the side, and a small tear slides down the right side of his face. Kix reaches up immediately and wipes it away. 

It's silent, giving Kix time to think for a moment. 

"Where they are; they are marching ahead in _Tra_. With Gods we cannot see. But we will join them when it's our time as well," Kix says. His eyes, hopeful. 

_"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,"_ Jesse whispers. He looks up at the sky in silence. 

_"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,"_ Kix echoes. 

Like that, the prayer is over. They whispered the names of the fallen and their loved ones and then they said _‘they are not gone, only marching far away.’_ Afterwards, the two of them remain curled against one another in the relentless sand; Jesse and Kix stare up at the heavenly skies above filled with gas giants and stars of pure beauty. The two troopers' fingers interlock together in between their thighs and then Kix rests the side of his head against Jesse's armored shoulder. 

"Thank you, Jess." Kix slowly closes his eyes.

Jesse leans over and kisses his forehead. 

"Of course, cyare." 

In the far distance, the planet’s second moon beamed down upon a vivid, tiny funnel-shaped flower called a _Statice_. It stands at least 28 inches in height. The flower features small, delicate petals that fluff together atop green stems in a beautiful soft shade of pink. The Statice looks spectacular under the soft glow of radiance. The petals of this flower are visibly ethereal in every way. 

Its pink shade stands for something. A special meaning. 

It symbolizes _Remembrance_.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Please leave a comment and subscribe/bookmark so then you are alerted when I post my next prompt. My third-day prompt should hopefully come out soon around next week! 
> 
> So, please keep your eyes open for it! 
> 
> Mando'a translation:
> 
> vode = brothers/comrades  
> kriffing = Fucking **(Is actually Huttese, but is not as strong as Karking)**  
>  Udesii = Calm down. Take it easy  
> karking = Fucking **(Is actually Huttese)**  
>  vod = brother/comrade/*mate*  
> riduur = partner/spouse/husband/wife  
> kriff = fuck **(Is actually Huttese)**  
>  aliit = family  
> tra = sky  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum = I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal  
> cyare = beloved/loved/popular  
> Nu kry'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la = They are not gone, only marching away


End file.
